


Kindred

by seventeensteps



Category: Tenet (2020)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Vampire, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-14
Updated: 2020-11-14
Packaged: 2021-03-10 05:29:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,333
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27559114
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seventeensteps/pseuds/seventeensteps
Summary: The knock on the large wooden door comes at exactly 3 a.m.He blinks his eyes open blurrily, hand reaching for the lamp switch on the bedside table before fumbling with the belt of his dark bathrobe.The only sound as he pads silently toward the front door is the pitter-patter of the light rain outside the rectory. He strains his ears, trying to listen, but nothing comes. As he pauses before the door, flicking on the faint lightbulb overhead, the first thought that comes to his mind isn'tWho?butWhat?Humans don't really go knocking on someone else's door in the early hours of the morning.
Relationships: Neil/The Protagonist (Tenet)
Comments: 8
Kudos: 44





	Kindred

The knock on the large wooden door comes at exactly 3 a.m.

He blinks his eyes open blurrily, hand reaching for the lamp switch on the bedside table before fumbling with the belt of his dark bathrobe.

The only sound as he pads silently toward the front door is the pitter-patter of the light rain outside the rectory. He strains his ears, trying to listen, but nothing comes. As he pauses before the door, flicking on the faint lightbulb overhead, the first thought that comes to his mind isn't _Who?_ but _What?_

Humans don't really go knocking on someone else's door in the early hours of the morning.

Sometimes he debates with himself the benefits and drawbacks of knowing what's behind that door. There is always a possibility of him ending up a lifeless corpse on the consecrated ground. In the end, however, the need to know always wins out.

And he opens the door.

There stands a familiar figure, tall and broad, shoulders sagging with what might be exhaustion. The dirty blond hair is wet from the rain and something else seeping from underneath, dark and dripping under the pale moonlight.

"John," the figure says. Not his real name, but something he prefers.

"Come in," he invites, partly out of habit, partly out of worry. "I'll give you something dry."

_I'm not here for dry clothes or hospitality_ , he doesn't say, but it's hanging there in the air between them. Still, he follows John inside, deceptively docile and domesticated.

Standing stiffly inside John's bedroom, he strips, peeling off the coat, the light blue shirt, the trousers, the shoes, revealing pale, flawless skin he's seen countless times before. Exposed, but not vulnerable. Never vulnerable.

It's John who should feel like the prey.

He sees his sharp canines, the way his lips part slightly, as if he can't help himself. The attention of that intense gaze is on John, his eyes, his jaw, his neck. He understands perfectly well the reason for today's visit.

John puts the towel down, abandoning the facade, and unties his bathrobe, tilting his head to the side. Anticipation burns and twists inside him. It's been a while, but he knows for a fact that the scars from before are still visible on his dark skin.

His visitor hesitates, brow furrowed, seemingly at war with himself. The look on his face prompts John to say, "Neil."

There's a sharp intake of breath.

Finally, Neil steps closer, one hand settling on the side of John's neck, intimate and familiar, and John can hear his own heartbeat, drumming away in his chest. Some proof that he's still useful.

Neil's fangs glint under the moonlight, full and powerful now. He caresses the side of John's neck, as if to soothe him for the thing that is to come, as if he—as if they—has never done it before. Neil likes to do this sometimes, for his own peace of mind rather than John’s.

John stands there, defenseless and trusting, and waits until the fangs sink into the meat of his neck.

It is a peculiar business, feeding a vampire. He's used to it by now, but he'd be lying if he said it wasn't exhilarating every time. John knows full well he should be scared, or at least slightly worried, and if it was any other vampires fangs in his neck, he would be. This is Neil though, and Neil never hurts him.

He'll never do it. Not intentionally anyway.

It hurts the first few moments, then it gets him numb, and then it starts to feel good. Even the initial pain has turned into some kind of pleasure for him.

John says this is for Neil, but he's also guilty of being hypocritical.

After Neil has taken enough out of him, they lie together on his dingy single bed. There isn't enough room for two grown men, but they manage—John holding him close and Neil pressing him down into the mattress. He strokes the others back and Neil pushes his icy nose into the crook of John's neck, full and drowsy with blood.

Time passes and John can hear Neil think. He wishes the vampire would stop being ashamed of his nature, though that is partly the reason John lets him do this. It's also why John lets him stay.

It's why John likes him.

"You should've denied me, John," Neil says. It's so soft John almost misses it if not for the lack of distance between them. Cold lips touch his bare throat, parting a little to lick at the wound and the blood still trickling down slowly.

John hums, and, not knowing what else to do, kisses the soft strands on top of Neil’s head. He smells like frost and grass and the charged air before a storm. John takes a deep breath and closes his eyes, trying to get some sleep before he has to wake up for his holy duties later.

Neil gives him another soft kiss on top of the fading scar and evens out his breathing.

The sound lulls him to sleep.

* * *

John is the only one in bed by the time he wakes up properly. For a few seconds, his chest tightens at the thought that _Neil's left, as usual_ , but then a whiff of buttered toast and coffee hits his nose, and then he hears some off-key tune from a whistling vampire in his small kitchen.

As if able to sense that John has woken up, Neil pops into the bedroom with a tray, carrying two slices of suspiciously good-looking toast and a mug of coffee. John blinks, sitting up, not really used to spending mornings with the other man, before grabbing the mug and sipping it carefully, eyeing the _DADDY I'LL BE GOOD_ printed in large bold letters on the hot ceramic mug. A woman bought it for him as a joke three Christmases ago. John thought it was pretty funny.

"Hope the toast is alright," Neil says, sheepish and more real than ever under the sunlight sneaking in between the curtains.

"It's okay," John tells him after taking a bite. "I prefer more milk in my coffee though."

Neil's eyes widen, and then he nods. "I'll remember that."

John isn't sure why Neil wants to remember his preference for coffee and toast, so he asks instead, "Why are you still here?"

The expression on Neil's face makes John bite the inside of his cheek. The vampire looks taken aback. "Sorry. I'll go if you want."

"No," John says, and pats the space on the bed next to him. "Come here."

John used to think bats are vampires' alternative form, but suddenly Neil reminds him of his neighbor's large Golden Retriever from his childhood memories. It makes John sort of want to pet him.

"I wanted to feed you, too," Neil explains once he's settled next to John, the tip of his nose behind his ear, and John realizes belatedly that Neil is sniffing him. He tilts his head to the side, giving Neil more access, out of habit more than anything else. Neil shifts closer and hums, "You smell so good."

John finishes his coffee and reaches up to comb his fingers through silky golden strands. "You shouldn't be here," John says quietly. "It's already light outside. Too dangerous."

Neil mouths last night's scars, licking at the closed wounds. "I'm not scared of the sun."

"People might see you." John pushes the empty tray away and turns toward the other man, cupping that handsome face. "The risk is too great."

Neil smiles, morning light upon him, accentuating his long lashes and bright eyes, turning him into something ephemeral. "They won't know what I am."

His confidence scares John. _You should always be on your guard,_ John wants to tell him. _Not everyone is like me._

Neil picks up the tray and disappears into the kitchen.

John wants to laugh. _Not everyone is like me?_

What does that even mean?


End file.
